The Teacher
by The Wayward Angel
Summary: Every child needs that one teacher that believes in them. That knows what they're capable of. That makes them believe in themselves. Even Dean Winchester.


**Author: The Wayward Angel**  
**Story: The Teacher**  
**Word Count: 1790**  
**Chapter: 1/1**  
**Pairings: None  
Spoilers: None**  
**Trigger Warnings: None**  
**Summary: Every child needs that one teacher that believes in them. That knows what they're capable of. That makes them believe in themselves. Even Dean Winchester.**  
**Disclaimer: Not even.**

**AN:** **Okay so there's this gif set on tumblr that is of Dean and Sam –**

**Sam: What is that?  
Dean: It's an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies.  
Sam: Yeah, I know what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted-up old Walkman?  
Dean: 'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade. **

**And tumblr user **_**verdigrisvagabond**_** added the following tags-**

**#dean winchester is a geek****#and****#dean winchester is a genius****#and I mourn sometimes for young dean****#the one who started school late#who switched schools so much that he fell behind****#the one whose dad never helped him in school****#or encouraged him to have interest in academics****#or in science****#who probably looked at the EMF meter and said****#'well I guess that'll save money on buying one'****#the dad who spent Dean's college fund on ammunition#and teachers probably looked at his school record****#all the transfers****#all the school fights from protecting Sammy and over bullies and girls and that time there was a monster at school****#and judged him without even looking further****#and maybe had him in remedial classes****#and so he stopped trying****#stopped thinking he had any right to be smart****#he didn't have time anyway****#not with helping Sammy with his homework****#and practicing weapons****#and hunting****#so somewhere along the line he just stopped trying****#stopped caring****#and he never had a teacher who noticed****#never had one that challenged him on his bullshit****#told him what he was capable of****#and to this day Dean thinks he's a grunt****#thinks Sammy is the smart one**

**So I got this stuck in my head and this is what came out in the time I had to waste before work. Hope you enjoy.**

**Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. Please feel free to point out any grammatical or spelling errors.**

_The Teacher_

Every time they move it's the same thing. Remedial classes, boring ass people, assholes picking on Sammy, get into a fight, get kicked out, rinse and repeat. And the more it happens, the worse Dean's record looks and teachers don't even bother trying to help him because they assume from the moment he steps into the class in a plaid shirt and combat boots that this boy, this boy right here will cause trouble. So Dean's stopped trying. It's not like this crap matters for hunting anyway. He just needs to know enough to help Sam with his homework, that's it. The boys' new school is somewhere in Middle of Fucking Nowhere, Texas, and Dean couldn't even be bothered to give half a fuck about the little farm kids staring at him, wondering why he looks like a wannabe biker.

Remedial math, junior year. Dean is sixteen years old and takes his seat at the back of the class, no backpack or spiral or pencil in sight. The teacher is a babe, Dean thinks, with a slamming body and huge tits. She can't be older than twenty-five. He hadn't even bothered to look at her name.

"Dean Winchester?" The teacher asks, looking down at her role sheet.

Dean inclines his head just a little and barely lifts his hand from the desk.

She smiles, "Welcome. It's a pleasure to have you here." With that, she turns and begins writing on the chalk board, numbers and equations.

Dean is dumbstruck. No 'care to introduce yourself'? No 'where are you from'? No 'why are all these schools on your fucking record'? Did she really not care? And more importantly, why did he?

The other students are fairly silent, most scribbling notes, others whispering or texting. Finally the teacher turns around, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, "Formula for the slope of a line. Go."

The whispering stops. Eyes go wide and glance around the room.

"Come on people, you know this." The teacher says, smiling gently.

Dean sighs, harsh and loud, "M is equal to Y1 minus Y2 over X1 minus X2."

"Thank you, Dean." The teacher says, printing the formula neatly, "Quadratic equation."

"X is equal to negative B plus and minus the square root of B squared minus 4 multiplied by A and C over 2 multiplied by A." Dean responds. Easy, same questions on Sammy's homework.

"Very good." The teacher responds with a smile.

After class the teacher, Ms. Addison, stops Dean before he can leave. "Dean," She says as he's about to step through the door.

Dean turns, hands firmly rooted in his pockets, "Yeah?"

Ms. Addison looks him over for a moment before her lips twitch, "Bring a notebook with you tomorrow, yeah? You don't have to take notes, just bring it. Just in case."

"Yeah," Dean says, furrowing his brow, "Yeah, sure, Ms. A." He says and walks out.

* * *

A week goes by and Dean doesn't so much as pick up a pencil in this school. His teachers, excluding Ms. Addison, nag him about it constantly. They tell him that this is why he's in remedial classes. That he should apply himself. That school is the only important thing. Ms. Addison just tells him not to forget the quiz on Friday, or the test coming up on Monday.

His first test in remedial math he scores a perfect score.

Ms. Addison hands back the tests and smiles at Dean, "Knew you could do it." She says as she sets it down.

Dean's never had a teacher like this before. One that actually seemed to care about _him_ rather than whether or not he participated in class. One that didn't immediately treat him like he was the scum of the Earth because of what they read on his school records. One that actually maybe kind of believed in him.

They were there, he and Sam, in Middle of Fucking Nowhere, Texas, with their dad, for a month and a half. John was getting ready to leave. Sam had already been pulled from his classes, but Dean decided to stay for one extra day to say good-bye to Ms. Addison. When her class ends and the school day was over, Dean lingers behind, hands in his pockets and a frown on his face.

"You're leaving today?" The teacher asks, sitting down on her desk. She motioned for Dean to sit on the desk opposite her.

"Yeah, going to Iowa."

"Dean," Ms. Addison smiles, "My dad was a hunter too," Dean gives her a shocked look, his eyes wide, "Group of werewolves snacked on my mom and little sister. My dad and my older brother, Samuel, got me away before they could get me too. Now, I don't know why your dad's in the business and frankly, I don't really care, but a little over a month ago we were having a witch problem and now we're not. So I can thank your dad for that."

"How did you-?"

"My dad saved your dad's ass once. It was a long time ago, but a lot of hunters know about John Winchester. Your dad is a dangerous man, Dean. I would be scared if I were a monster." Ms. A sighs, "My brother was a lot like you, Dean. He got into a lot of fights with people that liked to pick on me. He got kicked out of a lot of schools, but he was also smart as hell. Just like you."

"Well, Sammy's really the brains of the family." Dean grins.

Ms. A shakes her head, "Don't do that to yourself, Dean. You're a bright kid. I know you are, you're just smart in different things. You can build a car from the ground up, I've seen you draw it on your notes. I've seen your notes on monsters and guns, how to fight and survive. I bet you know which leaves and berries are poisonous and which are safe to eat. I'm willing to bet you know more than I do about mechanics and engineering. It's the environment you were raised in. You're street smart, you can take care of yourself and you can take care of your little brother."

"I…" Dean trails off, looking out the window, his dad is in the parking lot with the Impala, waiting impatiently, "I have to go. My dad's waiting."

Ms. Addison nods, "Go on." She says, nodding her head to the door.

Dean stands up and walks to the door, pausing when he hears, "You're smarter than you think, Dean Winchester, trust yourself." He nods and keeps walking.

They're five hundred miles away when Dean realizes he never said thank you.

* * *

Dean, at twenty-seven years old, still thinks about that teacher sometimes. The one he had for less than two months. The one that had a hunter for a father and didn't let him give up on himself. The one that challenged him, made him work, never gave him a grade he didn't earn. The one that believed in him, and didn't treat him like a delinquent, but rather, a friend. He still thinks about her. When he's doubting himself, when someone is telling him how smart Sam is, or they're surprised that Dean's not an idiot. When he's working on the Impala, or occasionally when he makes the right assumption about a particularly difficult hunt.

Years have passed, people have changed, the apocalypse has been prevented. He's met angels and demons and a myriad of monsters. He's lost faith in himself, in his brother. He's died, Sam's died, Castiel's died. Some people are gone that can't be brought back, others have been saved. The world keeps spinning, people keep living, people keep dying.

He and Sam are hunting again, this time with Castiel by their side. The case they're on is a difficult on, maybe a djinn, maybe something different. The brothers can't pin it down and Cas is in Heaven half the time so he's not much help.

"_You're smarter than you think, Dean Winchester, trust yourself."_

Years have passed and Dean still smiles, nodding his head slightly at the voice in the back of his head, a ghost of his teenage years. "It's a demon." Dean says and Sam gives him a funny look.

But sure enough, they visit the scene again and find sulfur. Sam gives Dean and impressed look and Dean grins. Sam asks Dean how he knew and the elder just shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

**End**


End file.
